#sirius black saying “i will die your son” has been rattling around in my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Note

i’d cry for a million years over #12 on the h/c prompts, it being about the other boys (or remus alone) first realising how the Black Family treats their eldest son

A tiny bit different but oh well! Angsty, and I hope you enjoy the break from my villain au!

Sirius kicks the door closed behind him, slamming it was a satisfactory sound. The noise echoes throughout the house, so much louder then it ought to be and for a moment he’s tempted to slam it again.

He knows not to, though, knows that slamming it once more would just make his mother come upstairs and then everything would go to hell.

He longed to, to wrench the door open, the wood biting into his fingers, slam it so hard that the wall cracked. He wanted to shatter the windows and fly out, wanted to burn this fucking mansion to the ground.

He’s 13. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this, the absolute hatred that coursed through his veins, the absolute loathing of his parents. He knows that he shouldn’t dream about them, of waking and running downstairs and finding them dead on the floor, blood running through the floorboards. He knows that he shouldn’t talk back the way he did, shouldn’t cast spells meant to hurt his parents, shouldn’t spend hours thinking of ways to kill them without being caught.

But he did.

People always called him a wild boy, someone that couldn’t be tamed. Burning up with too much, too much arrogance and talent and hidden, broken pain.

He hisses, glancing down at his arm; the cloth that he had wrapped around it was colored a bright, vibrant red. He’s a little dizzy, the bed swaying slightly underneath his feet but he ignores it, clenching his teeth and removing the cloth.

He exhales, hard through his nose as he examines the cut. It’s long, from his wrists to his elbows, a bloodied, leaking gash; crimson drops stain the bedsheets where he sits. He knew it was luck, blind, dumb luck that he had gotten this cut, used his arm to block a curse that was meant for his face.

He looks up, at the mirror hanging on the wall opposite from him and winces. A pair of grey eyes stare back at him, flat and empty, and he tries to imagine a raised scar streaking across his face.

Just like Remus, he thinks, and a small smile stretches across his lips. Suddenly, the thought of a scar didn’t seem so bad. Remus had them, and he was handsome enough.

Sirius looks down, trying to ignore the small flutter in his chest. He places the tip of his wand against the cut, wincing at the sting that echoed through his body. “Episkey,” he murmured, and the cut began to slowly close.

Remus was better at these healing spells, but he was all the way in Wales in holiday and Sirius couldn’t reach him. The cuts always seemed to scar whenever Sirius attempted to heal himself; long, vicious ones that stood out against his pale skin.

He watches the skin stretch together, the scar silvery and bright and Sirius let out a sigh of relief. He stands, examining himself in the mirror; there’s a deep cut on his lip, a bruise along his cheek. He presses the tip of his wand to the cut, wiping the blood off his lip. “Episkey.”

The wound closes, the skin itchy and tender as Sirius stands. There’s a spell for bruises but he doesn’t know it - he usually made do with his mother’s makeup. He straightens, stretching his back with a wince; the cuts hadn’t quite fully healed there, despite the Episkey’s. Some cuts were too deep for simple healing wounds, and Sirius just had to live with them until they healed. He stabs his wand at the bedsheets, the blood disappearing, then turned around.

He froze. Regulus stood at the doorway, in his dressing gown, hair messy and eyes impossibly large. There was a cup clutched in his hand; steam rose from it and Sirius thought he smelt tea. “I thought you might - “

“What do you want, Regulus?” The words came out harder then he intended it to and Sirius winces. “Oh shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Regulus gives him a tiny nod; Sirius realizes he can hear the cup rattling in it’s saucer. “I thought you might want some tea. You and Mother got in a fight and I thought….I thought you might want something to drink.”

Sirius gives him a wan smile. “Thanks.” He watches as Regulus set the teacup on his desk, on top of a set of books. The smell of tea filled his room, bergamot and sugar, the liquid creamy thanks to the milk that was put inside of it. He winks at Regulus, still staring at him with his huge grey eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It was just some stupid fight.”

Regulus blinks. “Where did you get those bruises?”

Shit. Regulus knew, to some extent, about the fights going on downstairs. The whole house echoed with them; Walburga’s shouts and Sirius’ screams, the occasional sound of flesh hitting skin ricocheting around the room.

But he didn’t know how badly Sirius was hurt, how sometimes he had to drag his aching, bloodied body up the stairs. How only 2 weeks ago, Walburga has used Crucio on him, just once, pain filling his body in nauseating waves until he thought he would die. How every sheet he owned was faded, the silk turning white because no matter how many times he vanished the blood, sometimes bleach was the only way to erase the stains. How he had passed his charms exam with flying colors because he had used every single one of the spells to hide his wounds - from vanishing charms to healing spells.

He would have ran, ran a long, long time ago ifnit wasn’t for Regulus. Because if he left, who would take the brunt of his mother’s anger? Who would she Crucio when she was drunk, carve scars into flesh when she was mad? She would hurt Regulus and Sirius couldn’t - wouldn’t - let that happen.

He let out a small breath, shifting slightly on the bed so that he was covering the blood rag that he had tossed there earlier. “I tripped,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Hit my cheek on my desk.”

Regulus regarded him with those dark eyes. “And the cuts?”

Sirius blinked. “What cuts?”

“I’ve seen you, you know,” Regulus told him, his voice too solemn for a 12 year old. “Last year, before the Hogwarts Express came. You had your shirt off and you were casting some spell - it erased the marks, I think. And you had so many scars. All over your back.”

Shit, Sirius thought, heart pounding in his chest. “I’ve had a lot of accidents,” he started.

Regulus shook his head. “It’s mother, isn’t it. She’s hurting you.”

It was like a wall broke, shattered inside of Sirius. He slumped, like a puppet with it’s strings cut, his head dropping down to rest in his hands. He felt the bed sag down next to him - Regulus had taken a seat besides him, rubbing slow, careful circles on Sirius’ back. He sniffs, throat swollen, like a stone was lodged in his mouth. “Thanks Reg.”

“I think you should leave,” Regulus says. His voice was deadly serious and for an instant he sounded older, like Sirius’ twin instead of younger brother. “I think you should run. Far away and very fast.”

Sirius’ voice is gentle, like he was soothing a wild animal. “I can’t, Reg.”

“Why?” Regulus sounded confused. “You hate it here anyway. There’s nothing more for you - you could live with James, or maybe Remus - “

Sirius shakes his head. “Because of you, Reg. At least while I’m here Mother only hurts me. But the minute I’m gone, she’ll turn her attention to you.”

“You took it,” Regulus whispers. “She hurt you. For how long, Sirius? How long has she been hurting you like this?”

“Like this?” Sirius echoes. He lets out a shaking breath. “Since I was 9.”

Regulus falls silent; Sirius could see the cogs spinning in his brain. His face hardened, his mouth setting into a hard, straight line, suddenly looking very much like Sirius did when he looked into the mirror. “Sirius. Please. She’ll kill you. You have to leave.”

Sirius smiles. He reached out cautiously, ruffling Regulus’ hair, his back screaming with the movement. They were rarely ever affectionate with each other; Sirius the rebellious child and Reguus the perfect son, but he’d always protect him. Even if it killed him, he’s protect his little brother.

“Oh Regulus,” he says, smiling fondly down at him. “You know I can’t.”

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